Be Mindful of Me
by Intervigilium
Summary: Challenge Fic. Contestants had 24 hours to write 1500 words about "The Good Ship". The person that challenged me wrote: /s/10218023/1/The-Perfect-Proposal


**DISCLAIMER**: Still don't own these characters and universe. But JKR lets us play with it.

"Something smells good."

Hermione smiles, still focused on the task at hand. "Bacon doesn't fry itself, as I constantly have to remind you."

"Well, with magic, it sort of does."

She rolls her eyes, turning around and transferring the bacon to a plate, the final ingredient of a full breakfast now before them. "I want to say this should be enough, but ..."

"You're dreaming, Hermione," he quips, reaching for a fork. "So what's the occasion?"

"What do you mean?"

Ron stares at the plate as if it was enough of an answer. When her hands touch her hips, barely concealed under the large shirt that serves as a pajama, he feels the need to elaborate.

"You're the one who's always telling me to be (he tries to imitate her voice) _mindful_ of my health, and too much bacon this, too many eggs that."

She just stares and he now smells trouble with the food.

"You're squinting your eyes."

"Never a good sign, is it?" She wants to laugh. Badly.

"No, it never is," he agrees. Ron looks at the plate, thoughtful, then back at her. "It was when I imitated you, wasn't it?"

"Complaining when I finally cook a respectable-sized meal – according to you, anyway – didn't help either. But I'm glad you're picking up on the signs." She shakes her head and lets a smile out.

He taps his temple in acknowledgement. "Still didn't answer my question."

_The nerve!_ "Well, for the first time in months I have a lazy Saturday to enjoy, and I figured I'd try something different! But if Your Highness is displeased, I can clean that up right away."

She reaches for her wand and Ron's hand softly catches hers halfway. "You wouldn't dare."

Even time seems to stop with his severity, and Hermione can't help smirking.

"Are we done arguing, then?"

"Lazy Saturday. Full breakfast. You. Sounds good to me." Not a moment too soon, he hastily adds: "That wasn't an order of importance, by the way."

It's just like Ron to fix something like that, and it makes her want to kiss him, but Crookshanks' claws are scratching something at her bedroom and her attention is lost for that split second.

"He's been grumpy all week."

"He's been grumpy all his life. I thought that was what attracted you to each other in the first place."

She opens her mouth to protest, and even as she does his hands are up in the air, surrendering. "I never knew the right time to stop! You know that."

"At least you're acknowledging it. It's a start." She uses her fork to flick some of the poached eggs his way. Ron manages to dodge it.

"What are you doing? Those are good eggs!"

"And that is a good wooden floor; I'd clean that up before I'm back if I were you."

Feeling particularly cheeky this morning, Hermione grabs the smallest size of bacon she can chew and goes to the bedroom, losing her shirt halfway there. "I'll take a bath, feed Crookshanks, and by the time I'm done I want to go shopping. I've heard of this place called _Magus Antiques_, and I'm positive that whatever is missing in this corner of the bedroom, I'll find there."

"Did anyone ever tell you that the concept of 'lazy' Saturday is lost on you?"

"I heard that!" 

* * *

"Granger."

It's a much lighter tone than the one she usually associates with that voice, but the polite distance is always there. It's the Slytherin's stigma, but at least this one seems to have partially erased hers.

"Daphne. You can call me Hermione, you know."

Daphne Greengrass performs what passes for a shrug, but smiles. "Old habits."

"We'll be interns and work together for at least another six months – more, if you decide to apply for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures as well, so there's time to fix that."

"I'll settle for a first-name basis as long as you don't try to sell me that S.P.E.W. talk again."

Hermione sighs, conceding. "It's a real issue, though. Everyone will have to talk about it eventually."

"I'm sure we will." Nothing in Daphne's tone indicates she likes the idea, though. "So what brings you here today?"

"Browsing furniture." She indicates the windows along the street. "You?"

"Defining a new low to my life."

Hermione tries to hide her perplexity, to no avail.

Fortunately for her, Daphne laughs. "My sister Astoria is absolutely _convinced_ her new boyfriend has been lying to her. He claims to work during summers with his grandfather, which limits the amount of time they can spend together. His grandfather is, apparently, a very strict and busy man."

"Fascinating. But where do you …"

"… enter the story? Apparently, I had nothing better to do on a Saturday morning than to shadow a boy around to make sure he was, in fact, making deliveries for his family."

"You did not."

"My sister has specialized in becoming so unbearably annoying that everyone around her will do whatever it takes to calm her down." Daphne sighs. "It was either this or contemplating imaginative ways of killing her and getting away with it."

"You're not serious." Hermione pauses. "Are you?"

_Ron's social tact is rubbing off on her, apparently_.

"Well, she's my sister and I love her to bits, but she's very high maintenance. Always has been, and doesn't seem to grow out of it. And he – she points at the boy turning around the corner, completely ignorant of the two witches looking at him – is going to see that any day now."

Daphne is suddenly silent. This is the most conversation she's ever had with Hermione Granger (what's more, about family and personal issues). And while it's weird, it's certainly not as weird as it's supposed to be.

"You could have just as easily pretended to follow him and report to her whatever truth you wanted," Hermione ponders absent-mindedly.

"And miss the opportunity to see Hermione Granger advocating the power of deceit? Never."

Hermione, feeling suddenly sheepish, tries to open her mouth in protest, but is stopped by Daphne. "I'm just taking the mickey. And you're right, I could've. But it was a nice exercise, and if he had been, in fact, lying to her, I'd be in a perfect position to hex him seven ways to Sunday. Which is tomorrow, so that'd be a load of hexing."

Hermione beams. "You're a good sister."

"Out of necessity more than willingness." Daphne gently places her hands in the coat's pockets, looking away. "Anyhow, that's enough spying for me today. I'm off to calm my sister."

"Not planning to spend too much time here, either. It was nice to see you."

"Likewise, Granger. Relax, that was just one for the road. Will I be seeing you at the office gathering later tonight at the Alley? Supposedly the Cauldron's looking all shiny and new."

"Not likely. I've already made plans."

Daphne smirks approvingly. "Got yourself a date, I see."

"Sort of. Nothing that out of the ordinary, just a quiet evening."

"Oh. Right." Daphne shuffles uncomfortably.

"What?"

"Nothing. I understand you, with everything that's happened, you and Ron …"

Suddenly there's an edge to Hermione's voice that she has a hard time controlling. "Nothing 'happened', Daphne."

The other girl nods. "I'm sorry. I never should've brought it up."

"It's all right. I'd better get going now, Daphne. I'll see you Monday."

Hermione doesn't wait to hear anything else, and Daphne turns around as soon as the other girl disappears from sight, wondering if there will ever come a time where sticking her foot up her mouth won't be this easy. 

* * *

"She was right, you know."

"Who was right about what?"

"Daphne."

Hermione turns her eyes away from her book to see Ron at the other end of the couch, with the worst admonitory look on his face.

"I didn't even – I don't - it was not of her business!"

"Her business or not, she still has a point. Eventually, you'll have to stop pretending everything's okay. It's not."

"That's your opinion." She knows she shouldn't be this cold with him, but Hermione is tired of having the same conversation over and over.

"Hermione …"

"What would you know? You weren't even _there_ to know what she said!"

"You're right. I wasn't there."

She knows his next words even before his lips move.

"I'm not even _here_."

"Stop."

"Hermione."

"STOP."

She raises her voice to force the tears in. It never works, but she always tries.

"You don't need to …"

"What I DON'T need is to be here." She tosses her book aside, grabbing a coat with too much force and knocking down the rack.

Ron tries to call her, but the sound is muffled by the slammed door. 

* * *

Hermione walks aimlessly, listening to music crooning from apartments along the way. At some point she recognizes Matchbox's "Back to Good" (radio's been playing it a lot lately), but it's the chorus and she tries not to think too hard about it.

She decides to focus on anything else she can find. Footsteps. A flickering streetlight. The elderly Armenian woman cursing her daughter's inappropriate dress. Anything that'll block the flood of incoherence she has been living with.

As usual, it's impossible. The flood doesn't stop, and she runs into a dark alley to disapparate. A single tear falls down on the alley floor as her feet reach the graveyard's gate.

At the slowest pace she can keep, the tombstone still appears before her too soon.

She sits down, bracing her knees. There are no footsteps this time, no sound of breath, but she can feel him. There was never a point in running.

"I know you weren't calling me before I shut the door."

She can see his shoes to her right.

"I know you didn't dodge the eggs this morning. I know I was flinging food around all by myself."

He's sitting down.

"What I don't know is how to stop seeing you."

"You do."

"No, I don't!" She sniffs and curses herself for looking this miserable, and then she realizes it doesn't matter because Ron can't really see her. "This would be so much easier if you were a ghost; if there was a way to explain what's happening without having to commit myself to psychiatric treatment."

"And do you ever wonder _why_ I didn't come back? Why I never chose to be a ghost?"

Hermione looks away. Of course she does. And every time she curses herself for even considering something so selfish.

"You weren't afraid of dying," she murmurs sadly.

"That's true. But not all the truth," a kind, feminine voice suggests.

Hermione nearly jumps back up. Not only has Ron disappeared from her side, but Molly Weasley is a few meters behind her. Damn that woman and her ninja step.

"Mrs. Weasley, I – what – I'm sorry I didn't notice you."

"That's quite all right, dear. And it's about time you start calling me Molly."

Hermione smiles, thinking of her earlier conversation with Daphne. "Old habits."

Molly approaches her, conjuring a small bundle of flowers to place over the two graves, kissing the tip of her fingers and placing them gently over Ron's and Fred's names. She then takes a step back and sits next to Hermione.

It's a different kind of intimacy, one Hermione has not been accustomed to for a while – things have never been really the same with her own parents after the war, and she can hardly blame them given the circumstances. She welcomes it, for as long as it lasts. She doesn't ask why Molly was there, if this is a regular visit she's interrupting or just Fate greasing up its wheels. They are still, and so is the world.

A few minutes go by before Molly speaks again. Same even tone, the tone a proud mother always has.

"My Ron wasn't afraid of dying because he knew we were all as strong as he was. And we would find a way to live on."

A lump blocks Hermione's throat. "He was wrong. At least, he was wrong about me."

"My dear girl, why would you say that?"

"Because it's true." She sniffs and looks back at the woman with a heart that's just too big to carry only her children, and insists on adopting others along the way. "I keep seeing him everywhere, and if I tell you I want it to stop, it'll just be a big, fat lie. I miss him. I miss him so much. I want it to be real, and I know I can't have it anymore, and it's just –"

A comforting arm envelops her, while Molly makes soft noises that would be more appropriate to make a baby sleep, but they work just the same. The girl can feel her own heartbeats softening.

"I'm not sure you'll ever stop seeing him."

The woman almost laughs when Hermione brushes her hair aside to look straight into her eyes.

"I don't think this is the kind of wisdom you were expecting from me, but it's the truth and it's what I have to give you. I see them too, you know. All the time, everywhere. It's the parts of him that live through me. What will change – and trust me, it _will_ – is the way you perceive that presence in your life."

"I don't – "

"Ronald would've wanted you to leave a long, happy life, with or without him. He was your first love, Hermione, and you were his, even if he was too much of a boy to realize it sooner," Molly chuckles. "Let this be a sling to push you forward, not an anchor that keeps you stranded."

She places a kiss on Hermione's forehead, and helps her stand, brushing away the remaining tears.

"In time, you'll know I'm right. He will not be a daily hallucination, much like I imagine that he is now –"

As if on command, Ron appears behind his mother, smiling affectionately. "She knows her stuff," he admits, and Hermione has to hold an eye-roll.

"– but a subtle reminder, here and there, that you are on the right path. Trust me." 

* * *

"Morning."

"Morning. Listen, Daphne, I …"

"Don't bother," she says, raising her hand and taking her eyes away from the report she's filing. "Social interactions with Gryffindors are always a risk. I shouldn't forget that."

There's no trace of malicious intent in her voice, just a good-spirited jab. "And I was out of line. I know that."

"No. No, you weren't." She sits across from Daphne. "I just haven't been giving people the chance to talk to me about it. Not here, not at home – wherever that is at the moment."

"It didn't really sink in," the other girl nods.

"I suppose not."

"Well, grief walks at a different pace for everyone. Take yours at your own."

Hermione pretends not to see Ron at the edge of her sight, smiling as if he's been right all along. That resonating pull, that necessity to speak with this echo living inside her is still there, but she does her best to keep it in check.

"I will." And Hermione stands up, nods curtly and makes her way to her own desk.

It is only halfway into the morning that she remembers to ask Daphne about something else.

"So was your sister impressed with your investigation?"

"Oh, very. But I'm sure next week she'll be convinced he's a conniving bastard all over again. Mark my words, she's going to end up marrying a bloody fool with a deep Gringotts vault." 

**AUTHOR NOTE**: Written for a challenge. Contestants had 24 hours to write 1500 words with the ingredient "Ron/Hermione", or "The Good Ship", if you prefer it.


End file.
